


Interlude

by keiliss



Series: The Pink Flamingo [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:51:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8099353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiliss/pseuds/keiliss
Summary: Afternoon at the Pink Flamingo.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_lasbelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_lasbelin/gifts).



> Written for red lasbelin's birthday - happy birthday again (what? it's still September)
> 
> This takes place shortly after the events in chapter 5.

"We'll have to think of something to improve the gaming take, this is pathetic."

"Hot weather, they be outside cooling off from the day, not sitting inside with the dice or the cards," the Avari said reasonably.

Erestor huffed, squinting to thread the needle. "Damn this cheap rubbish, it splits. How do I sew with this? I don't see why that would keep a dedicated gambler away though. The other clients show up, even a heatwave wouldn't keep them away and what they come for is a damn sight more energetic than tossing a pair of dice around. We did better this time last year, didn't we?"

The Avari scowled at the cash book as though trying to frighten the figures into rearranging themselves in better order. "Last year our Laurel'd dance on the table for them?"

Erestor got the needle threaded and waited till he had anchored the thread with a small, neat knot before replying. "If all it took was for someone to flash her tits and dance on a table, we'd hardly have a problem. I got complaints that she was distracting anyhow. No, it's not that."

"Bun in the oven, that one."

The needle dipped in and out carefully as Erestor set about repairing the embroidered hem of a silky red tunic. "Sorry, what?"

"Bun in the oven," the Avari said patiently. "Breeding. Laurel."

"Laurel's pregnant?"

"Aye, so I said." The Avari began a complicated mathematical calculation on scrap paper. To begin with Erestor had baulked at paying for off cuts from the paper makers but they were cheap and there were more sums and little notes involved in running a business than he could ever have imagined.

He shrugged. "Well, good luck to her, I know she wanted a family. I can't imagine any other reason to go off and bind with a baker anyhow."

"Free pastries? Always had a sweet tooth, our Laurel."

"She's not really our Laurel any more, of course -- oh, bun in the oven. Married to a baker. Gods I'm slow today."

"That be true," the Avari agreed placidly. "And she be our Laurel. Still asks after everyone. No visits though."

"I suppose most husbands draw the line somewhere," Erestor said, nodding. "You know what would be nice? Someone to fix clothes and create new costumes. Just tell her what we need, and forget about it. Gods, I hate sewing."

"Not on this coin, we won't," the Avari said, tapping his uneven square of paper. "Might need to give Cook half wages for a bit again."

"Don't be daft, she'd never stand for that again," Erestor said. He put his needlework down and reached out. "Here. Let me look at that."

"One plus seven be eight, no matter if it be you or me that looks at it," the Avari said, handing it over and getting up. While Erestor looked down the figures he had put together and then compared them to their source in the book he went to pour them cider from the jug on the table under the window. They had the parlour to themselves; at that time of day everyone was resting in preparation for the evening's work.

"You know, the problem with this is the minimum stake. It's too low."

The Avari sat down, pushed a glass over to Erestor. "They'll mutiny if you be making that higher."

Erestor looked up, eyebrows in a straight line. "Well it used to be. We gave them a holiday, now it's time to go back to the rules as they were when this was a proper garrison and the clients were warriors with nothing much else to spend their pay on. They'll live. We just need to bring in something else to sweeten the pot."

"Something else?"

"I don't know, another game, a new entertainment...."

"Could put you up on a table, dancin'," the Avari suggested. "Right novelty, that. Come from right down the valley to see it."

"Oh, this was what my day needed - humour."

"Have the half-breed down here and all. That blond soldier'll come for another look too."

"I've told you before, Medlin. You are not to call Elrond a half-breed. It's offensive. And I am sure Lord Glorfindel has far more useful ways to spend his evenings than coming down here to watch someone dance." He pushed the cash book over then hooked the chair opposite closer and put his feet up on in, leaning back with the tunic in his lap. 

"Half-elf then, if that's your pleasure, Master. We could get that ribboned thingy out for you, the soldier damn near swallowed his tongue when he saw you in that."

"All right, you're starting to annoy me now. Just leave Glorfindel out of this, please. And stop smirking," he added, stopping in the act of picking up the tunic again. "You're not the least bit amusing. Maybe that's what the gaming room needs - you up on a table wearing nothing but a loincloth. You can still juggle, can't you?"

"Touchy," the Avari said in a satisfied voice. "Be no cause to stab that poor tunic that way, it done you no harm that I be seeing."

Erestor shot him a cold look from slitted amber eyes and went back to his stitching. The Avari gave his approximation of a smile and sat back, staring at the careful figures on the page before him. 

"He noticed, didn't he?" Erestor said eventually, eyes fixed on his sewing.

"Ay-yup. "

Erestor smiled and wriggled deeper into the chair. "Yesss. I rather thought he did too."


End file.
